Lying in Ashes
by Angelic-Requiem
Summary: Sweeney Todd, the moonlighting murderer, has renounced his former ways and desires only to earn his daughter's forgiveness.  However, when a figure from Benjamin Barker's past investigates the murder of Judge Turpin, his trail leads him to Fleet Street..
1. Prologue

**Lying in Ashes**

_**Shards of a Shattered Heart**_

**Prologue**

The air on a November evening was usually cold, but that particular night was impressively bitter. It wasn't as though Jonathon terribly minded the chill, yet he was quite concerned on account of his companion. He rubbed his hands together to hide their shaking, and watched the cloud of warm air billow about his face as he exhaled deeply. He could feel the bite of winter catching him on the tip of his nose and tops of his ears, but he refused to complain at once of their insanity at being out in such weather. The woman next to him was red in the cheeks as he was, and yet she didn't seem at all disturbed by the freezing conditions. It was when she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders that Jonathon finally decided to speak.

"It's a cold night Miss Clara. Are you so determined to keep your engagement?"

Miss Clara Cartwright offered a slight smile, but she didn't look his way.

"Have your toes frozen already Jonathon?"

Jonathon stiffened, immediately feeling mildly indignant. He proceeded to correct his companion's misunderstanding when she glanced at him with a satisfied pleasure. Jonathon clapped his mouth shut, realizing she was only joking with him. Miss Clara's gaze fixed itself on the path they were walking; the destination unknown to her escort.

"To answer your question, I am indeed quite determined Jonathon. I don't intend to break a promise, regardless of how miserable the weather chooses to be."

That was the last they spoke for many moments, but the silence between them was pleasant. In Jonathon's eighteen years of existence, he'd never related as well to anyone as he did to the charming lady, who had entered his life without any degree of expectancy. After his own mother's death when he was not a decade old, his father had lived in denial that no one could offer him the happiness he required to fill the hole in his heart. Like Jonathon, his father was a very sensible man, who scrimped and saved for his son's education. However, unlike Jonathon, he possessed a strange dedication to duty before love that his son did not share.

Mr. Wilhelm Edwards was a banker who had thrown himself into his profession after the death of his wife. Jonathon respected his father implicitly, but more as a detached role modal than a doting parent. The elder Mr. Edwards rarely demonstrated ranges of emotion at any time. It was living under that grimly stern influence that the once impressionable and daydreaming Jonathon had grown rational and distant. It was on the arrival of Clarissa Cartwright that his and his father's world changed forever. Clara, as she preferred to be called, entered their lives like a much needed ray of sunshine in a clouded world Jonathon had hardly noticed surrounded them. She was beautiful and full of such passion that Jonathon felt himself staggered and confused at her conduct at first. She brought an energy into their lives that it was no wonder at all that his father married her.

Jonathon was brought back rather hastily to the present when they had arrived at their destination. However, Jonathon was fairly surprised to find that their travels led them to the gate of a cemetery. He subconsciously scratched behind one ear as he turned toward his stepmother.

"You're certain your engagement is here, Miss Clara?"

She slowly faced him, still wearing a regretful smile. Jonathon had found as he knew Miss Clara better, that there was a measure of sorrow concealed in her eyes at times. Despite her vigor for life and happiness with her husband she seemed so unexplainably…sad.

"I've made this journey more times than I can count, lad. I am quite certain."

Her tone suggested that was the only explanation she was to offer, and so Jonathon kept silent. Although the sun had fallen and dusk was upon them, the wintery sky was still a beautiful shade of silver, not yet smothered by the blackness of night. Miss Clara entered the graveyard, the bouquet of preserved daffodils contrasting strongly with her dark clothing. Indeed Jonathon remembered his stepmother retreating away once every couple of weeks with pretty flowers and an unwavering diligence. This was the first time that Jonathon had accompanied her, and by the way she spoke of the engagement Jonathon had never suspected this mysterious identity to be deceased.

The two of them walked silently through the maze of tombstones. A blanketing mist fluttered about their feet as they walked, casting not an eerie milieu over the cemetery but somehow a sense of tranquilly. As they rounded a corner, Miss Clara stopped suddenly. He glanced at her with an intention to question her stillness, yet he refrained when he saw her somber expression. Without words to explain her sudden emotion Clara continued onward as though she had not paused. Jonathon scurried after her.

Tombstones were scattered about the plot of land in no particular pattern, and large angelic statues seemed to watch over the dedications to souls that had passed away. Jonathon shivered in the cold and continued to follow his stepmother without falter. Clara winded through the labyrinth of tombs without any degree of hesitation. She knew exactly where she was going.

Finally she reached the tomb she was evidently looking for. She immediately dropped to her knees before the monument, remaining there for a few silent moments without moving. A soft smile rose to her face and she tenderly laid the flowers on the grave. As she silently prayed, Jonathon glanced at the headstone.

_Here Rests Mrs. Lucy Barker. Beloved Wife and Mother._

It was a very short dedication engraved into less than elegant marble, and yet Clara knelt before it with tiny tears tumbling down her cheeks. Jonathon didn't think it appropriate to speak while she was so involved in such a deep sense of mourning. As Jonathon waited for her to finish paying her respects, he took a closer look at the headstone. A glint of silver suddenly caught his eye, and he leaned toward the source with a furrowed brow. The sight, when he deducted what it was, perplexed him. Lying directly against the cold stone was, or what looked to be, a barber's razor.

Jonathon did not have time to contemplate the presence of the folded blade, nor did he directly ask his stepmother about it. He offered once final glance at the tombstone before following after Miss Clara. Finally, he found he could not hold his questions any longer.

"May I ask, Miss Clara, who was the lady?"

The question was rather vague, yet Clara understood what he meant. She sighed deeply, but she did not slow her pace.

"She was an acquaintance of mine, one whom I cared deeply for but hadn't the pleasure of knowing very well. Her death was a tragic one, which is why I come here as often as I can to offer her companionship."

"I noticed the title read Mrs. Barker. Does her husband still live?"

Clara faltered in step for only a moment before continuing on. She allowed such a lengthy pause between the question that Jonathon wondered if he should repeat himself. However, she gathered her thoughts eventually and spoke.

"He does. I cannot say how often he visits. At least on one occasion, of that I'm certain."

Jonathon thought back to the exquisite blade decorating the tomb. Could it have been a token left by her husband? A strange gift, to be sure, but then again Jonathon supposed he had no right to judge. Jonathon took his stepmother's arm in his and the two of them took their leave of the cemetery and began the journey home.

...

A year later Jonathon's father, Mr. Wilhelm Edwards, died. His sickness and cause of death was quite unexpected, for the elder Edwards had been a very fit and healthy man. Jonathon had paced the floor back and forth, unsure of how he was to act in response to such a horrible situation. He had already spoken once to his father, saddened beyond words at witnessing the once strong man bedridden and weak. Clara was inside the room, consoling her husband whose second anniversary of marriage they would never see. Jonathon had collapsed into a chair and buried his face into his hands.

In his miserable state he remembered the soft touch on his arm. He recalled looking up into the delightfully pretty face of Katrina Harper. Concerning the sickness or death of any loved one, condolences were useless in their intention to ease the pain of the sufferer, and yet Jonathon appreciated the young maid's sympathies just the same. A few hours before Mr. Edwards' death, Katrina remained beside Jonathon without movement. She left him alone only when she rose to put on some tea. It was during this absence that the doctor stepped out of the room with his head bowed. Jonathon jolted to his feet, his eyes wide and his face pale. The doctor approached him and patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, son."

Jonathon felt the air choke him, but he didn't collapse into tears. He nodded to the doctor and fixed his gaze upon the floor. Clara leaned out of the doorway, her cheeks streaked with tears. Jonathon met her eyes despairingly. Clara took a deep breath before motioning for Jonathon to enter. Jonathon stepped with stiff legs and nearly collapsed before making his way to his father's bedside.

Mr. Edwards' face was pale as was standard for a dying man. His light brown hair was dampened with the perspiration that dripped from his face. His cheeks were sullen and his eyes looked so very tired. He was a man of forty-four years, and far too young to face the gates of death. Mr. Edwards turned to face his son, and then reached out a weak hand. Jonathon dropped to his knees and took his father's hand, attempting to hide his tears.

"You are a good lad, Jonathon, and a good son." Mr. Edwards smiled softly. "A man such as you needs no guidance, and as I pass into God's hands I must say that no father could be prouder of his son."

Jonathon could not restrain his tears any longer, and they rolled down his cheeks without mercy. Jonathon swallowed to strengthen his voice.

"Can I do anything for you, Father?"

Mr. Edwards was fading farther and farther into oblivion, but he could find the strength for one more dialogue before his soul departed.

"Take care of your mother. I'll be watching out for the both of you." Mr. Edwards lifted his mouth into one final smile before his features relaxed forever.

...

The funeral was a modest event. The middle-aged banker had many acquaintances but few if any good friends. He was well liked among the social setting but modesty kept his name from the common gossip. Mr. Edwards' was simply a man who died before his time as far as the community was concerned. For his family, however, the matter was looked on quite differently.

After his father's death, Jonathon noticed that his stepmother had not shed a tear- in his presence at least. She was a strong woman, and yet Jonathon was still quite flabbergasted at how frail she could instantly appear in certain instances. As she watched her husband's casket being lowered into the ground, her face remained dry of tears. Despite her lack of emotion, her sadness was clear and Jonathon stood beside her and took her hand in his. Her skin was cold. He recalled the sweet smile she offered him, and without a word she patted him on the shoulder and strode toward the grave, and after a pause she gently tossed a flower within. The casket and flower were buried beneath the earth.

On the walk home, Jonathon felt Katrina at his side. She, perhaps, shed the most tears of them all. Jonathon had noticed, not for the first time, at how classically beautiful Katrina was. He'd known her since his childhood, and they'd grown to be the greatest of friends. It was this connection, perhaps, that caused Katrina to outpour the sorrowful emotion that Jonathon himself could not release. At the sight of her swaying hand as she walked, and the silver tears sparkling against her cheeks, Jonathon grasped her fingers and offered her an attempted smile of comfort.

...

Jonathon sat in the parlor without a shred of evidence to what ideas and emotions churned inside his head. He was utterly melancholy, and could not even bear to lift himself from his chair. A novel, one Katrina implored him to read, was on his lap but he had not yet read a word. Normally, Jonathon was not thought to be a brooding sort of fellow, but under the circumstances the reaction was typical. However, it was not just the instance of losing his father that caused him to sulk, but also the thought of what lay in store for him.

His father had been a successful, middle class banker in London. Despite the ease at obtaining the position as a clerk, which is what his father had wanted, Jonathon realized he had no desire to follow his father's path. It was not as though banking was Mr. Edwards' passion, it was simply the best paid position he could acquire. His father had been very practical.

A week later Jonathon sat on the floor with his head leaned back on the sofa. He thought the roof deserved a new coat of paint judging by the splotches, and yet, he remained unmoved. He heard Katrina enter the room, pause for a moment, and then continue to advance. She knelt down beside him and Jonathon could smell the soothing essence of Chamomile.

"Would you care for some tea, sir?" Katrina asked in her polite, sing-song voice.

Jonathon rewarded her effort with a crooked smile. "You know I hate that."

Katrina grinned. "I know. But, I am your employee after all."

Jonathon reached for the cup Katrina presented. He took a whiff of the tea and then placed the cup to his lips and sipped. The liquid was most gratifyingly warming.

"A friend first, always, Katrina. Your thoughtfulness is something to be admired."

Katrina smiled once again before getting to her feet and striding toward the door. Jonathon ran his fingers though his dark blond hair and called out before Katrina closed the door.

"Has my stepmother returned?"

Katrina's pretty round face scrunched in thought. "Not yet, but she should at any moment."

Jonathon let his head fall back onto the chair as the door gently closed. Miss Clara had informed him only a few hours ago that she was going out, and that she would be back soon. Jonathon knew his stepmother was regretful at his lack of vigor, and yet there was not much Jonathon could do to correct it. He was in a slump, and there was not even a trace of light to lead him to the end of his mournful tunnel.

Suddenly, he heard the commotion that signified Miss Clara's return. He could hear the muffled voices of the two women whom he shared his home as they spoke behind the parlor door. Jonathon forced himself up and scrambled onto the sofa; nearly spilling his tea as he did so. There was a knock at the door, which Jonathon acknowledged. Miss Clara stepped inside, her cheeks rosy and her expression content. Jonathon smiled.

"Good afternoon Miss Clara."

"To you as well, Jonathon." Clara took a seat directly beside him, and by the look on her face she had something she wished to say to him. When silence prevailed she began.

"I know it is not my place to pry, lad, but unfortunately I seem to recite this phrase to myself daily but my habit still returns." She stopped when Jonathon attempted to disagree with her harsh self-berating, but he quieted when she held up a hand for silence. "I've pushed my way into the business of others so much now that I really don't see the harm of continuing. I have a proposition Jonathon. A job offer, to be more specific. I've made an arrangement, if you're interested."

Jonathon considered. He was unsure at which direction he wanted his life to lead him, but he once secretly hoped he would travel away to find love and adventure. He was far more sentimental than his father had been. Yet he was nearly nineteen years of age now, and he had to try something new. He turned toward his stepmother and nodded his head.

"Thank you Miss Clara. I'd be very interested to pursue this offer."

Clara wrinkled her forehead. "Don't you wish to know the profession before accepting it?"

"My career choice is undecided, so there's no reason for me to know, I suppose. Could I have the name of the gentleman who's agreed to employ me?"

Clara gazed downward for a moment, and then her eyes came up to lock on his. She smiled softly, with slight hesitation.

"His name is Todd. Mr. Sweeney Todd, of Fleet Street."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hello everyone! I am so excited I finally began posting my third Sweeney Todd fan fiction. I hope this story is enjoyed by my fellow Sweeney-lovers, and I am having a great time writing it. Please let me know what you think of the prologue. I would just like to take this moment to quickly say something that is bugging me about the beginning of the story and I'd like to explain my reasoning. After I reread the first draft of my prologue, I realized with some distress "Why would Clara send her stepson to go and work for an unstable, former murderer? However, I convinced myself this was alright because Clara has visited Mr. Todd on many occasions, and can see that now that the motivation for his revenge is out of the way, he has no more reason to kill. The vibe I got from Sweeney Todd was not necessarily insanity, but innate desire for vengeance to get back at the people who wronged him (and some other pie-fillers along the way:). Anyway, I just want to make it clear that I know this part is a little off, but it was the only way I could think of to get my characters where they're supposed to be. Thanks for reading this silly spiel, and hope you enjoy reading _Lying in Ashes_!


	2. I

**-I-**

_Seven Months Later_

The city of London provided the most majestic of milieus. The shimmering silver glow of the moon danced off the panoramic cityscape, and the fog billowing about its streets offered the illusion that London herself rested in the clouds above. Few could deny the beauty of such a place, even those who knew of its detestable corruptibility and filthy streets. However, the man who stood erectly on the swaying planks of his ship scowled at the sight.

Constable Rolf Fitzpatrick returned to London to achieve a resolution. After suffering the humiliation of his failure and demotion of his prestigious position, his single-minded determination amply pointed him in the correct direction. He was not rightly sure who was the sole destroyer of his career, but he supposed he would find the answer in London. Fitzpatrick was a mere constable now, and nothing would deter him from discovering the truth of the disappearance of his oldest friend.

The ship docked, and Fitzpatrick stepped ashore and onto the empty streets. He stood vacantly for a moment, going through his misfortunes once more within his mind.

He had achieved a high rank many years ago and was considered one of the most dangerous officers in the service. As a result of his success, he was relocated to act as supervising officer of a colossal prison just offshore of Australia. He'd accepted the task with enthusiasm, thankful for a new challenge. However, despite his strong dedication toward his profession, he was not the most righteous of men. It was his ambition to attain control or better yet rid the world of the scum that rotted the lowest section of the social standing. He would lock them all away, innocent and guilty alike, if he had the power to do so. It was this dedication that made him the most ruthless and despicable of men.

He owed much of his success to a man called Frederick Turpin, a respected Judge in the city of London. Turpin shared Fitzpatrick's desire to weed out the wretched and feeble creatures in the lowest classes. The poor and the needy were not granted an inch of leniency, and if they were desperate enough to commit a crime, they would be apprehended and disciplined in the harshest of manners. The harshest, of course, would be a clean execution. Those more fortunate would suffer life imprisonment.

Fitzpatrick respected Turpin and his morals very much. He could recall a day more than fifteen years ago he'd received a letter from the Judge. It detailed the criminal acts of a young man who'd been charged with murder, and was at that very moment being transported to the ocean prison. Fitzpatrick had been delighted by this news, and made way to the docks as soon as the ship came into sight. Truthfully, Fitzpatrick was astounded at the frail man Turpin had assured was the most dangerous of criminals. His appearance did not categorize him to be among the desperate wretches that seemed so susceptible to a life of crime. Even beneath the filthy clothing he wore he was most surely not a lower-class man. He could almost have appeared a gentleman had his crimes not tainted his respectability.

Constable Fitzpatrick began to walk through the winding streets, offering grunts of disapproval at the children shivering in the gutters. Beggars, they did not deserve to continue their despicable existences. All that would come of their continued survival would be more crime and more clutter in the alleyways. As he strode, Fitzpatrick thought back to the prisoner he'd been charged with all those years ago. He touched his temple in thought. What was that pitiful creature's name? Ah yes, Benjamin Barker.

The convict's first few months in prison had been quiet and compliant. He walked about as though in a trance, as though he could not understand where he was. At least four months after Barker's transportation to the penitentiary Fitzpatrick journeyed a crossing to London to visit his dear friend. Judge Turpin had been in the best of spirits when Fitzpatrick met with him at a nearby brothel. Although stiff and severe, Fitzpatrick was not ashamed to admit that he enjoyed women and all that such a pleasure implied. It was on one particular night when the two men had been drinking quite diligently that Turpin slapped the table and declared he had a confession to make.

"Out with it then." Fitzpatrick had said, nearly spilling his wine due to an overzealous hand gesture. "Do not keep your guest in suspense."

Turpin began to guffaw with a hearty laughter as he detailed the entire account. He was rather proud of himself for his brilliance, and indeed after the plot had been revealed Fitzpatrick was in awe of how clever it was. It appeared the Judge had framed Mr. Benjamin Barker to clear his path to a most exquisite woman, who had been attached to the lowly barber. With Barker out of the picture, it was simple work for Turpin to steal the poor woman's virtue. The entire situation was quite humorous, and even as Fitzpatrick strode down the streets of London he felt himself smiling.

When Fitzpatrick returned to the prison he made things especially hard on the barber. There was something about the disillusioned man that intrigued and infuriated Constable Fitzpatrick that could not be explained. Perhaps it was the spark of hope inside the man's eyes, even as he hefted the heaviest of stones across the work-yard or was beaten to the point of unconsciousness without particular reason. That young man had persevered with dignity despite how many times Fitzpatrick or his cohorts attempted to break him. Strangely, none of them believed they were being cruel. They followed their superior's orders- though with disturbing eagerness- without question and believed they were simply punishing a detestable criminal. Fitzpatrick alone realized this innocent man had done nothing to deserve such horrendous treatment.

It was that reason precisely that Fitzpatrick continued to put that man though as much tribulation as he could conjure. He thought of it as a kind of game. Mr. Barker, despite a temperate nature, was remarkably steadfast for a naïve man plunged into a dreadful situation. The diversion Fitzpatrick used to amuse himself was how far he could push the barber until his hopeful demeanor finally broke. It would only be a matter of time. However, Fitzpatrick could not believe the instance that convinced him Mr. Barker was quite unwilling to lose this game. Much to Constable Fitzpatrick's surprise the barber had murdered one of his guards.

It was by Fitzpatrick's order that the despicable fiend was locked away in seclusion. When he specifically pondered how long Barker spent in solitary confinement he found he couldn't even guess. It had been years, surely. It was during this time that a remarkable transformation had taken place. He remembered hearing the guards patrolling Barker claim they heard the man constantly muttering to himself. The barber became so frighteningly unhinged apparently that no one dared go near him. It was a wonder that the allegedly deranged man did not die of starvation.

For a few years Fitzpatrick simply forgot about the unfortunate man. He was quite busy with managing the number of criminals within the prison, as well as the shiploads of villains being transported every few weeks. It appeared that Turpin was indeed succeeding in his goal. However, with the added number of convicts to be detained, a renovation was in order to provide the adequate cells in which to keep the perpetrators. It was when that project began that Fitzpatrick was reminded of a criminal locked away in the depths of the fortress. Only a handful of guards that had remained over fourteen years remembered the man's name. As for Fitzpatrick, he was rather surprised Barker had survived. He'd predicted his death to take place a lot sooner. However, the barber could not remain in the cell in which he had existed within for the past fifteen years. He needed to be moved.

Surprisingly enough, despite the reports of insanity, Mr. Benjamin Barker was the most obedient of prisoners. He obeyed every demand without question or resistance. Fitzpatrick still remembered with a vague shudder the first time he'd seen the transformed creature after fifteen years of captivity. He was a frightful sight, to be sure. Yet the only attribute Fitzpatrick recalled in the man was the haunted emptiness in his eyes. Finally, the feeble hope Mr. Barker desperately held had completely diminished. Fitzpatrick had seen this as quite a triumph, and congratulated himself for it.

Constable Fitzpatrick suddenly realized that as he lost himself in his ponderings, he had taken an incorrect street. Irritated by this setback, he supposed it would be quicker to keep progressing down his current street than doubling back. It would simply be longer than anticipated to reach his destination. He would reach the Judge's household in an hour or two, and when he did he would waste no time picking up the gentleman's trail. He was utterly determined to discover what had become of Judge Turpin, and he believed the quickest way to do this was to reconstruct the night of the disappearance as clearly as he could.

As Fitzpatrick continued his erect march down the cobblestones, he felt himself remembering the horrible occurrence which had stripped him of his prestigious title. It was due to a criminal revolt that had taken place in the dead of night. There were frequent rebellions formed within the lines of convicts, but they were dealt with accordingly. Fitzpatrick confidently believed a full-scale revolt was impossible. However, he had been mistaken.

A wave of dangerous criminals poured from their cells and into the courtyard. Of course, they didn't possibly have a chance of succeeding, and to that day Fitzpatrick could not understand what they'd been planning. There were many possibilities for a successful uprising, and yet the fools darted about the yard in such a confused manner it was a pleasure to shoot them and their infuriating ineptitude. Yet by killing many of the would-be escapees, the workload for the guards had doubled. Fitzpatrick was also dismissed as head of the prison since he was obviously unable to retain control.

Fitzpatrick clenched his fists hard as he walked on without falter. His humiliation had been dismal indeed, and he felt a pulsing desire to take out his revenge on someone. Although most of the criminals involved had been killed, Fitzpatrick could not understand why his yearning to punish was running so strong. He felt as though there was someone who needed to pay for what had happened to him, and yet it was a feeling that could not be proved. He did recall a report documenting Mr. Benjamin Barker missing, but if the cad did find away to escape to the sea, he would not have survived a crossing.

His inner preoccupation was interrupted once again. Fitzpatrick turned his head in response to a commotion to his left. A boy of about eighteen rushed down a stairway with a large, folded sign in hand. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and began to position the wooden declaration so that it might present itself properly. Fitzpatrick paid little attention to the slowly awakening city and their business owners readying their shops for service. He absently wondered what street he'd found himself, and nodded upon seeing a sign. Fleet Street. That was not a fifteen minute walk from the Judge's home. Just before disappearing into the stone passage to the Old Bailey, Fitzpatrick caught a glimpse of the sign the boy had erected.

The interesting structure was a barber shop, apparently, managed by a Mr. Sweeney Todd. Fitzpatrick stroked his chin as he continued toward his current direction, thinking perhaps he would stop by if he found the time. He was due for a good shave.

Exiting the passage, Fitzpatrick proceeded directly past the courthouse and up the avenue. More and more people were flocking out of doors as the morning wore on, and the irritated constable was impatient to arrive at his destination.

At last, Fitzpatrick finally approached Judge Turpin's manor. It was as dull as he remembered, but still rather appealing to a man who called the stone walls of a prison home. He silently vowed he would not rest until he discovered the circumstances in which the steadfast Judge disappeared. He absently felt inside his jacket to be sure his pistol lay at easy access, and then started for the door.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_I feel quite embarrassed to see how long it's been since I last updated this story, and I hope that I might redeem myself by posting the remaining chapters that I have already written. Although I have not yet completed this story, I think it will be worthwhile to post the completed portions and, if they are well received by readers, I may yet find the inspiration to finish it. I have really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope that I might continue it someday soon. Please let me know if you are enjoying yourselves with this bit of work, and I will do what I can to complete this story._

_With sincere thanks,_

_Angelic-Requiem_


	3. II

**-II-**

Johanna's life had been so very glorious in the first months of her freedom that it was no wonder, in the depths of a new hardship, she reminisced on these happy times. When she and her friend Anthony had departed the city of London, dear Anthony was keen on showing his female companion the world. Locked away in her solitude Johanna had dreamt of traveling to distant places, but never in her wildest dreams did she think she would ever have the chance. Now, with her former guardian gone, there was so much she wanted to see.

The ship was spectacular, and the beauty that accompanied sailing across the open ocean took her breath away. She was so enthralled by the experience that nothing fazed her. Even the storms that terrorized them from London to France did little to stoke her desire for adventure. During the voyage, she found herself beginning to better understand her lighthearted companion. He was so admirably optimistic, and even after all that had occurred in the blackness of Fleet Street, the young man seemed to shrug it off effortlessly. Johanna, on the other hand, could not relinquish her memories so easily.

Johanna sighed as she considered all that had happened in little over seven months. More had occurred in those months than her entire sixteen years of living under the Judge's power. Johanna watched the rain patter against the glass as she gazed out the window. Although her surroundings were new, she saw little difference between Paris and London. Both were industrialized with large smokestacks and cobblestones. Coaches progressed up and down the street, as did busy civilians. It reminded her too much of her old home, as well as her former situation.

For a month now, Anthony and Toby had been gone to sea. Johanna could remember the exchange well. Anthony was a simple sailor, and therefore hadn't the means to support her. It was not only that, but he wanted to show her the world. All that travelling cost money; money that Anthony did not have. Upon their arrival in Paris, Anthony rented an apartment for the three of them with the remainder of his earnings. They still had money for food, however limited, but Johanna was nothing but grateful. She appreciated every moment she could spend with Anthony, as well as with dear Toby.

Toby had been a natural sailor, and though he did not bother Anthony it was very obvious that he wished to return to the sea. Anthony told him that he could take his own employment on a ship if he wished, but the boy was adamant about remaining by their side.

Although Anthony was the first young man Johanna had ever met, she felt a connection with him that she knew could never be broken. Something inside both of them seemed to belong together, and it kindled an eternal friendship. Johanna could not say for sure if she was in love with Anthony, although she loved him very dearly as a friend. She hadn't been sure if that feeling had the capacity to deepen or not. Her hesitation was short-lived.

A few months after living in the quaint apartment overlooking the docks, Anthony had proposed. Johanna grinned warmly at the memory. He'd been so flustered. The two of them were taking a pleasant walk about the park. Toby had travelled to the market to purchase the cheapest groceries for their supper. She remembered the weather was far more agreeable then the smothering fog in England. They had previously been chatting about Greece, and how enchanting it would be if the two of them could visit. After the conversation the two walked side-by-side in comfortable silence. Suddenly, Anthony took Johanna's arm gently and led her off the path. They strolled through the grass, but Anthony said nothing and Johanna did not question. She knew where they were heading. When they first explored the beautiful park Johanna had spied a most enchanting fountain off the beaten track. It was concealed behind some fur trees, and by the signs of neglect it had probably been forgotten. It was not the prettiest fountain in the grove, but it was Johanna's favorite. She and Anthony had spent many hours discussing where they wished to go in the future.

The conversation would end when Johanna would name a spectacular place, like Venice, for instance, and Anthony would clap his hands together and say, "Venice! It'll be our first destination."

This declaration would be followed by Johanna's amused laughter and the two of them would stroll home. When the two of them were on route to that special fountain, Johanna had no reason to suspect anything unusual. Therefore, when Anthony dropped to one knee just before the fountain Johanna felt as though she'd been turned to stone. Anthony said nothing at first. He simply looked up at her from his knees with his sparkling young eyes. Johanna could hardly breathe. Finally, the young man spoke.

"I fell in love with your beauty the first time I saw you, Johanna, and in these last months that I've gotten to know you that love has transformed into the deepest of affections. I cannot expect you to feel the same way, considering you have only just begun to live in freedom. However, even if you do not share similar affections, please let me stay with you. Even if we never marry I want to protect you always."

A tear trickled down Johanna's smiling face. She had never really focused on her feelings for Anthony, but as she did, only one emotion came to her. It was happiness, and it was all consuming. She took Anthony's hand in hers.

"I owe my freedom to you, Anthony. I would never have begun to live if not for you. However, I do not say these words because I feel I am obligated. You were my first sunshine. I love you, and I want to be with you."

Anthony kissed her hand softly, and then rose to his feet. No other words were spoken. They held each other warmly for many moments, and Johanna never wanted it to end.

He had not asked her to marry him, but Johanna regarded Anthony as her betrothed nonetheless. She loved him so very much that their relationship could only result in eventual marriage. Now, when Johanna thought about Anthony she could only feel apprehension. The trouble began when it became more and more difficult to pay the rent. Anthony was determined to earn enough they could travel, and therefore he beseeched a friend of his late father. This man's name was Lord Tarleton, and he was a very wealthy gentleman. Johanna remembered the first time she'd seen him. He was a thick-set, serious sort of man, but his behavior fit a gentleman of his standing. His face was clean-shaven, and his black hair was pulled away from his face. At full length, Johanna guessed it reached just past his shoulders. Something about him frightened her, and when she was first introduced something in him reminded her of her father.

However, Lord Tarleton held none of the despair within his eyes that Johanna had seen in her father's. Although Lord Tarleton was dark and brooding, he also seemed rather devious. Of course, Johanna had no reason to believe such a foolish notion, therefore she dismissed it. If she could guess an age, she thought he was about late-forties. He was far too dull featured to be dashing, and yet he possessed a very upper-class air about him.

Johanna was unsure as to why Anthony chose this particular gentleman to call upon. He didn't seem like the generous sort. However, Anthony explained later that his father had saved Lord Tarleton's life. Anthony's father was a sailor also, and he braved great peril to foul an assassin's attempt on the unaware Tarleton's life. The would-be killer was executed the next day, and neither Anthony nor his father knew the reason behind the attack. It was because of this debt that Anthony implored the Lord's help. It didn't take long for the arrangement to be made, and soon after Anthony explained everything to her.

"Johanna, I'm so very sorry for what I must tell you, and moreover what I must do. I have promised you that we would travel the world, but I don't even have enough to support you. All I know is the trade of a sailor, and that is how I must earn my wage. Lord Tarleton has agreed to help me, and he will offer you the support you require until I return."

Johanna felt an instant dread seep within her. However, she refused to show her desperation. She took a careful breath. "I see. And how long until your expected return?"

Anthony's face fell, and Johanna supposed her cold response had been worse than if she'd begged him to stay. Johanna remained unwavering before him. He exhaled sharply.

"Eight months. Ten, at the most. I know how awful a man I am to leave you here, but you are not residing with strangers. Lord Tarleton is my father's oldest friend, and he cannot afford to soil his reputation. He also has plenty of servants under his employment, and those I've spoken to have been very friendly."

"I'm not concerned about that Anthony. I've lived alone for such a long while I really do not mind. It is you I care about. I don't want you working so hard just to fulfill my dreams. I will be content only if this is what you really desire to do."

Anthony smiled, and touched her cheek tenderly. "I am a sailor. It is all I've ever known, and I've never thought any other but the sea my home. However, priorities change when you fall in love."

The two embraced, and Johanna rested her chin on his shoulder. "Promise you'll come back to me."

"I will think only of you. And I will return with the means to fulfilling your brightest dreams in my hands."

Johanna wanted to tell him that he was her brightest dream, and as long as she had him she'd be happy. However, she knew the young man was determined. It would only make his departure more difficult if she argued. She stepped away, forcing a smile onto her lips.

"Then go. The sooner you depart, the sooner you will return. I'll be waiting for you."

As Johanna continued to stare out the window, she felt a warm tear trickle against her cheek. She remembered the exchange perfectly, for she had run it through her mind so many times since the departure. She wished she could go back to that moment and beg Anthony to stay, or take her with him, or…anything. She hated being trapped with so many people she did not know, in a city that was beautiful but unfamiliar. Although she'd been alone for so many years, after experiencing such companionship and than losing it, she didn't think she could stand being lonely again.

Even Toby was gone. He had spoken to her while Anthony was readying to depart for sea, telling her that he would stay by her side. He was thirteen years old, but he possessed the bravery of a man twice his age. Johanna forced back her own selfish needs and implored the boy to go with Anthony. She could see how much he desired to return to sea, and she could not be the one to deprive him of that.

"You are certain you'll be alright, mum?" Toby had asked.

"I will be fine Toby." Johanna returned as she took his hands in hers. "I want you to watch over Anthony, since I cannot."

"I'll be sure to, Miss Johanna."

Then Johanna hugged the sweet boy to her. "I hope you will both return safely."

"Don't worry, mum. We'll return with more gold than you would be able to count."

Johanna had forced a smile at this, but she did not want gold. Yes, she wanted to travel, and she did fancy eating, but surely there could be something else that could be done to earn it.

As Johanna pondered she heard a pounding at her door. She jolted in surprise, but composed herself before calling out for the caller to enter. It was one of the Lord's maids.

"Pardon ma'am. His lordship wishes for you to come downstairs to supper. Please dress appropriately, as it is a party with many of his investors. He said he wishes for you to be his dinner companion."

Johanna growled. She had no desire to parade about as the man's fresh young partner, and she most definitely was not comfortable being under the eyes of so many elder gentlemen. At least with the Judge, she had been kept for his eyes alone, and spared constant public embarrassment. However, Johanna obediently nodded.

"Inform him I shall be down at once."

The maid bowed and exited. Johanna did not move at first, instead gazing out the window at the remarkable French sunset. She had dreamed of Paris for so long, and yet this portion of the city was not very appealing to her. She tried to imagine wandering through fields of grass underneath a gigantic blue sky. She tried to feel the grass under her bare feet and the wind against her face. How glorious it would be to be free to do whatever she wished. Instead, she was trapped here just as she'd been trapped in the Judge's manor, relying on the support of a stranger. Despite this depressing outlook, Johanna fought to be positive. As soon as Anthony and Toby returned they would travel the world, and they would be at the mercy of no one. Johanna only hoped she could wait that long.


	4. III

**-III-**

Jonathon blew out a winded breath as he tirelessly swept away the dirt off the veranda. The sky was cloudy once again, and yet the young man felt perfectly at ease. Perhaps it was due to his new position, but honestly Jonathon could not say what precisely brought on this optimistic outlook. He'd been working in Mr. Todd's tonsorial parlor for over half a year, and he enjoyed the monotones tasks very much. Every morning before dawn Jonathon was required to wake up and ready the shop for business. This included cleaning, sweeping and generally assisting Mr. Todd in the organization of his materials. The tasks were very agreeable for Jonathon.

Now, on the subject of Mr. Todd… When Jonathon had first come to work for the barber, he'd been utterly staggered by his malevolent appearance. He was unlike any gentleman Jonathon had yet come across, that was certain. He wore his hair in unruly tangles; the color as black as pitch. Contrasting strongly to this mess of black hair was a few strands of silvery white hair that sprouted just above his right brow. His face was pale, struck with a strangely misplaced air of elegant nobility. He possessed brown eyes, and yet there was not one shred of warmth contained within them. Jonathon had been shocked into dumb silence upon his first introduction, for he suspected for a moment that the man was a walking corpse. While Jonathon stood there in momentary silence, it was Mr. Todd who had spoken first.

"You're the boy, then?"

Jonathon shook off his initial alarm and nodded his head. "Yes sir, my name is Jonathon Edwards."

Mr. Todd studied him with a critical eye. "How old are you?"

"Almost nineteen years, sir."

"To work for me is to serve without question or complaint. I haven't the patience for malcontent."

"I understand, sir, and I assure you that you can count upon me."

Mr. Todd glanced him over one last time before he make a gruff noise that could have been a grunt. At that point on, Jonathon was under the employment of Mr. Sweeney Todd. In the beginning of his acquaintance, Jonathon was unsure what to make of the brooding barber. He rarely spoke, and when he did it was only to give an order. It seemed that every word was a painful action, which was why Mr. Todd avoided conversation as often as possible. However, despite Mr. Todd's regular silence Jonathon did not think of him as disagreeable. Something about the bitterly cold man inspired respect within his young servant, although there was nothing Mr. Todd had specifically done to warrant it. While Jonathon continued to sweep he spied a gentleman ascending the stairs. Jonathon glanced quickly at the shop door. The shop was not due to be open for another few minutes. The gentleman, a middle-class man judging by his fine apparel, nodded his head toward the shop boy.

"Good morning lad."

"And a good morning to you, sir."

"It seems I have need of your master's services. I am on my way to an appointment you see and as I strolled I felt the most unseemly roughage on my cheek. I would like to clear this away as soon as may be."

Jonathon nodded. "One moment, sir. I will see if Mr. Todd is ready to receive customers."

Rapping his knuckles on the door, Jonathon waited for a response from within. He received it, and followed Mr. Todd's order to enter. Jonathon pushed open the door, half expecting to see Mr. Todd rising out of his bed to begin the day's work. After all, the barber had been astir when Jonathon retired at eleven-thirty, and he couldn't possibly awaken so early. However, as Jonathon peeked into the modest home and shop of the standoffish Mr. Todd, he was quite surprised to see him standing at the far end of the room, hands clasped behind his back and gazing out the wide window. Jonathon took a quick glance at his master's cot. It hadn't altered even in the slightest since Jonathon had retired last night. He wondered if Mr. Todd ever slept.

"What is it?"

Mr. Todd's guttural voice brought Jonathon out of his contemplations abruptly.

"There's a gentleman outside to see you, Mr. Todd. Are you prepared to receive him?"

Mr. Todd lifted his chin, as though something caught his eye outside, however he didn't look at Jonathon as he spoke.

"Send him in."

Jonathon retreated out of the shop and relayed the permission to the gentleman. The latter, in turn, tipped his hat to the boy and stepped into the shop. Jonathon continued his work, this time wiping down the railings with a damp rag. The morning air was crisp and chilly, and yet Jonathon was able to move quickly enough to keep himself warm. When he first began to work, he would make weekly visits back home to check up on his stepmother and Katrina. It was quite a long trip but it was worth it at first. It had been quite a delightful surprise when Jonathon learned his stepmother was with child. Since Jonathon's father took sick so suddenly, there was no surprise that the couple had recently made plans for another child. It made his father's death all the more heartbreaking, but Jonathon had learned moping was unhelpful in any situation. Clara was well looked after, Katrina made sure of that. Despite the sadness that his stepmother plainly displayed within her eyes, on the outside she was in the happiest of spirits. She joyfully anticipated this child's birth, primarily on account that it was her first.

However, even though it was not spoken, Jonathon knew how important this child was because it would keep its father's spirit alive forever. It was his stepmother's gift to her husband. Because he could not remain alive, the birth of his child would weaken the pain his family felt for his passing. The child would bring a new light into their lives. Jonathon was overjoyed at this inevitable occasion, and he hoped to save enough money to buy the most wonderful gift for the baby.

When Jonathon was convinced he was not needed as frequently as he'd been visiting, he decided to set up a temporary residence beneath Mr. Todd's shop. The kitchen and pie shop that used to boast the most delicious meat pies had mysteriously gone out of business. It was something to do with the disappearance of its owner. However, the shop had been purchased some time ago and converted into a pleasant little hat shop. There was an empty room in the back of the shop, and Jonathon had asked the owners if they would be willing to rent it out. They were reluctant at first, but they soon agreed and Jonathon received a new residence. His duties included opening shop, cleaning after closing, and running any errands Mr. Todd might have for him. Jonathon was unsure if Mr. Todd ever left the shop, however, he was proven incorrect on that account.

On one particular night a few months previous, just as Jonathon was readying for bed, he heard only the softest of footsteps and he'd gone to the parlor window to investigate. All the ladies who managed the hat shop had retired, and so the chamber was quite empty. In this stillness Jonathon caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure striding down the steps, and upon further investigation Jonathon realized the figure was Mr. Todd. He marched stiffly down the street, usually wearing only the thinnest of jackets on cold nights. The barber left the shop every night, and Jonathon had not the courage to ask where he went.

When Jonathon reached the bottom stair, and finished the last swipe across the railing, he started as a woman threw open a door. She appeared frazzled, although she usually did naturally with permanently flushed cheeks and a mop of wild graying hair. Jonathon placed her identity immediately as Mrs. White, and he inclined his head respectfully.

"Good morning, ma'am."

"It would be better if we had our materials at our disposal." Mrs. White ran a hand through her hair. "One of the girls has forgotten to pick up the ribbon and so we are left with an order to fill without a vital ingredient. If you are not busy, lad, could you do me a great favor?"

Jonathon was sure he could spare a quarter hour or so. He nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Mrs. White."

The woman's plump face brightened and she clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"You're a good lad, Mr. Edwards." She pressed a few coins into his hands. "We need six reels of pearl and red. The ribbon shop is on the corner of Fore-street. My sincerest thanks once again."

With those final words Mrs. White disappeared back into the shop. Jonathon contemplated informing Mr. Todd of his temporary absence, but he decided he would not bother him while he was busy with a customer. Jonathon pocketed the money and strode off in the direction of Fore-street.


End file.
